Just a couple of things before the next instalment.

I hope he doesn’t mind me mentioning this  but perhaps readers should know Bea is experiencing some serious health problems at the moment and is undergoing heavy duty treatment so may not be in the best shape to make his usual contributions. But hopefully he has turned the corner and is starting the road back. Hurry up you cranky old Scot, we miss you.

Thank you to the people who took the time (and had the patience to persist) in posting comments and  who found the story interesting. Like Bea I have found it difficult to post comments, I think the trick is to sign in just before you post and this is not always visible in the window as displayed, you have to expand it. Anyway I really appreciate the comments. I’d like to clarify a point one commenter made regarding adding to the story.

Rosie and Jack are only one part of Bea’s concept which involves a wider female community by which Jack can be subjugated and this is my take on one member of that community – Rose - and her developing relationship with our hero/victim. I think in order to allow others who want to contributr/develop their storyline it’s probably best if I confine my bit to Rose and Jack (although I have an idea for a cameo appearance from Pamela in the next episode)  and I also think it’s important that what’s happened is their little secret so others can develop the story and Jack’s character  independently if they so wish.

The last contributor to the story – Bea -  has suggested that there will be a party. My part of the  storyline takes place before that so when this part ends (there is at least one more episode, if readers are still interested) maybe the story continues from there but the only people who are aware of what has preceded the party are Jack and Rose. Having said that I don’t think this should stop people from posting their own story line.

Shit! I hope that makes sense.

This kind of stuff may not to everyone’s taste and I could be boring the shit out of Bea’s readership  but I am interested in what people think good or bad. If readers find this storyline interesting, enjoyable, or just plain crap please let me know I’m not precious about it but feedback can give me ideas to develop it  or tell me where I’m going wrong.

Again thanks for taking the time to comment I really appreciate it.

Carrie

PS I will finish this but not sure when next instalment will be, could be a week to 10 days.

 

 

 

Rose and Jack Part 3

Jack was still reeling from what had just happened he cursed himself for his bad luck. Why didn’t his mother tell him Rose was arriving that morning, why did he have to fantasise about Rose at that moment? Why, why, why, it made no difference now, he was in deep trouble and was dependant on Rose not exposing his secret. He had little time to think about this now Rose had made it clear that she wanted the room cleaned to her satisfaction and as his new attire aptly demonstrated, she usually got what she wanted.  

He tried to remember what Rose had shown him a few days previously, how to make a bed properly, dust all surfaces not neglecting the corners and difficult nooks and crannies, tidy the dressing table, he feared he was bound to forget something. As he scurried about the room trying to focus on the task at hand he was forcibly reminded with every single movement of his new feminine clothing. All his senses seemed to have been heightened. The hair clips holding his maid’s cap in place, the gentle rubbing of the soft pantyhose as he walked, the bra tightening across his back when he bent over, the restriction of the girdle stretched tightly over his stomach, the soft sensation of the slip in caressing his pantyhosed thighs, the tightness in his claves from the unfamiliar height of his heels.  The ignominy that all these were his mother’s was bad enough but his ultimate humiliation he felt was his imprisonment- for that is what it was -  in the capped and aproned uniform of a housemaid. Despite his best efforts he could not avoid catching glimpses of himself in the mirrors throughout the room. He hated to admit it to himself but  the reflections he saw in the mirrors bore little resemblance to a teenage boy, the figure moving about the room was undoubtedly that of a young uniformed servant girl her skirts swaying slightly with her every movement. He forced himself to snap out of these thoughts and concentrate on his work. Hopefully he could get through his chores in an hour or so and then he would be able to discard these degrading clothes. He had learned the error of his ways and resolved never to make the same mistake again.

 “Have you finished girl” he heard Rose’s raised voice as she approached his room for her inspection. He forgot for an instant the he was the “girl” to whom she was addressing her question. He recovered just as she entered the room. He noticed she had taken off her cap and apron and now looked more like the school matron than a maid.

“Yes Miss Rose” he said.

“Aren’t you forgetting something” she said giving him a bemused look.

He suddenly remembered and somewhat embarrassed, gave her a hurried curtsy.

“Are you reluctant to curtsy, girl, think it’s beneath you is that it?” she said in a stern voice.

“No Miss Rose, I’m sorry I forgot, it won’t happen again” he pleaded.

“Very well as you are new to service I’ll allow it to pass... this time.” she said “Now let me see if you have remembered what I taught you last week. Stand there with your hands held together in front of your apron. It is the pose properly trained maids adopt in the presence of a superior.”

He stood there as she had ordered bristling at the subservient stance he was forced to take while she inspected his work, first the bed then she ran her finger over various surfaces checking for dust, and examined every part of the room. Finally she finished and turned to him.

“Not bad, a few things need improving the dresser could be tidier, the pillows should be plumped more but we can work on that.”

He didn’t know why but he was so relieved he gave another curtsy.

“Thank you Miss Rose” he said and suddenly became aware of the instinctive and submissive nature of the gesture, he could feel himself blushing. Not to worry he thought, just something to keep her happy for another hour or so, but he was grateful that she smiled rather than barracked him.

“Much better my girl. I think you could make an excellent housemaid given the proper training and supervision” she said looking at him as if requiring a response.

He was both surprised and horrified by this remark and while he felt like asking sarcastically  if she was joking, he thought this would only antagonise her and felt  the best course would be agree and move on to the next task.

“Thank you Miss Rose” and curtsied, hating himself and wishing this would end soon.

“Ok let’s move on we still have a lot to do. We’ll start downstairs.”

He followed her downstairs the sound of their heels seemed to click in unison as they walked. This was the longest distance he had walked so far and was becoming less fearful of stumbling in his new shoes and also more aware of the way the skirt of his uniform swayed as he moved. She told him to begin in the kitchen, first sweeping the floor then loading the dishwasher, clean all work surfaces and a plethora of other tasks. She supervised him all the while pointing out errors here and there, he was kept so busy that he barely thought of how he was dressed.

As she watched him set about his work Rose smiled to herself as occasionally he would reach inside his uniform to adjust his bra or the straps of his slip just like a  girl would do. Once she almost laughed out loud as he unselfconsciously tugged his girdle back into place as it rode up the cheeks of his shapely behind. How very feminine of him she thought. After he had completed his various tasks she told him he could take a break for a cup of coffee. He was glad of the break, he wasn’t used to all this work as these were chores his mother usually performed. She poured the coffee as he sat down.

“Not like that” she corrected him “when sitting in a skirt a girl smooth’s the back of her skirt with her hands from her bottom to the backs of her knees so she won’t bunch her skirt and keep your legs together at all times. Now let me see you try it again.”

He did as he told and got it right first time, much to his surprise.

“Much better” she congratulated him “now that we’re on a break and you haven’t sulked you may revert to calling me Rose, but once you resume work it’s Miss Rose. Understood?”

“Yes Miss Rose, I mean Rose” he said thrown by this turn of events which was exactly what Rose was aiming for.

Now that they were sitting as equals he mustered enough courage to broach the subject of when he would be allowed revert to his male clothing, the thought of his mother catching him dressed like this was proving a major worry.

“I know I’ve done wrong Rose and I’m ever so sorry” he began “and like I said it won’t happen again.”

“I’m glad to hear that” she interrupted him.

“So after I finish cleaning can you forgive me and we can go back to being friends, if there’s anything else I can do I’ll do it.” he pleaded hoping this current humiliation would be sufficient punishment.

“Well I was very upset, it was a horrible thing you did and I think you still owe me but I haven’t  given much thought as to how you can make it up to me but as you have shown remorse for now I’ll settle for a written apology” she offered.

“No problem but can I change back into my old clothes, my mother is due back this evening and I obviously don’t want her to see me like this” he said.

“Lucky for you she’s coming home otherwise I would have insisted you remain as you are for a much longer period. Now that would go a long way to making amends. A pity ” she said and produced a pen and paper from a drawer and dictated his apology.

It was very embarrassing for him to write it down he barely took notice of  the words  “I apologise blah blah… disgusting behaviour, blah blah... no excuse blah blah, and on it went, but he was just so relieved at  getting her agreement for him to revert to male clothing  he couldn’t get it down and sign it fast enough. Without out reading it back he handed it over to her feeling it worth the price, another hour or so and he would be free and out of these humiliating clothes. She read it and smiling carefully and folding it placed it in her bra.

“That will do nicely” she said now let’s get you back to work, the living room needs vacuuming, the vacuum cleaner is under the stairs. But first follow me” she said as she strode into the hallway and stood in front of the large mirror.

“Come here girl” she commanded.

Obviously the break was over he said to himself as he stood beside her in front of the mirror.

“You must check yourself regularly in the mirror to ensure your cap and apron are in place and your slip is not showing. No harm to check your lipstick is touched up also.”

She fussed over his apron and cap adjusting them slightly until she was satisfied and showed him how to check his slip wasn’t showing. Then she handed him the tube of lipstick and showed him how to apply it himself. This was even more demeaning but at least not long to go now he thought and suffered in silence. She told him to keep the lipstick in the pocket of his apron for future applications and gently touched up his hair she stood back to admire her handiwork.

“You make a much more attractive girl than boy” she observed casually.

From the glimpses he caught of himself upstairs and now in front of this mirror he knew she was undoubtedly correct about his girlish appearance, it was difficult even for him to detect a hint of masculinity from his reflection. He was both fascinated and repelled to think his maleness disappeared in the space of an hour or so.

She smiled and added enigmatically “You know, some women prefer that kind of thing.”

He could feel himself blushing at her compliment but didn’t know what to make of her other comment.

“Well run along girl the floor won’t vacuum itself” Rose said dismissing him to perform his next task.

 

 

 

He vacuumed the room with her as ever supervising him and when he had finished she ordered him to polish the various surfaces. Five minutes into this the phone rang. Rose answered it. Jack could obviously could only hear a one sided conversation.

“Swanson residence, oh hello Madam, yes I got here shortly after you left. No, he’s being a very good girl…. sorry, boy, I’m so used to seeing only girls here.” Rose was smiling at Jack who had stopped his polishing and was listening intently to the one sided conversation wincing when she referred to him as a girl. The conversation continued.

“Oh sorry to hear that, is everything all right?….yes I understand Madam …. that’s no problem at all, of course I don’t mind, no, I have nothing planned at all. Yes he’s right here.”

She smiled as she handed him the phone. “Your mother would like a word.”

As he took the phone he noticed her place her hand inside her bra and take out his written apology, glancing at it in a casual way.

He took the phone and knew what was expected, he immediately became even more embarrassed as he spoke into the phone -if that was possible- of the way he was dressed, knowing he was wearing her lingerie made the embarrassment almost unbearable. He tried to sound as if everything was normal.

“Oh hi Mum, yes Rose is taking care of me” he lied. Rose watched him and smiled as she detected his black pantyhosed knees wobble slightly.

“But Mum I can take a bus there” he almost pleaded down the line and after a few seconds of listening in silence he handed the phone back to Rose.

“Yes Madam, of course it’s no bother. I would only be too happy to look after him until you return. Good bye Madam.”

She turned to Jack who seemed to be in a state of shock.

“Well it seems Miss Strang has had to be admitted to hospital for tests, just precautionary of course but your mother felt she’d better stay and Miss Strang is so grateful for the company. As she told you she wants me to look after you until she returns. Could be a few days, now won’t that be nice” she said with a smile Jack had come to dread.

Jack could barely believe what had just happened, Rose hardly meant to keep him dressed like this until his mother returned.

“But I can wear my own clothes after I finish the housework Rose? It’s what we agreed.” he asked in a voice almost pleading for a positive response.

“It’s Miss Rose my girl, you’re forgetting your place.” she said in an authoritative voice but continuing quietly “I think we both know the answer to that question. Now come sit here on the couch and I’ll explain.”

Patting the space beside her she motioned for him to sit beside her. He walked over to the couch and without even thinking smoothed his skirts the way she had told him and keeping his knees together sat close to her. Rose noticed this with a deep feeling of satisfaction but said nothing. He could feel the tears welling up at the prospect of spending an extended period dressed not only in feminine clothes but as a uniformed housemaid. As he sat she gently patted his thigh and said in a conciliatory tone,

“There, there, no need to be upset my pretty one. Now if you remember I said I didn’t think a few hours helping me dressed as you are would be a sufficient repayment for the horrible thing you did and it was horrible. Maybe this is an opportunity to wipe the slate clean and we can start afresh, if you are obedient, defer to me in all things, and conduct yourself in an appropriate fashion until your mother returns then I’m sure we will be even. I really think that’s fair don’t you.”

He knew he had no choice as his mother had already placed Rose in charge until her return and she held his signed apology or what now seemed like a signed confession. He bowed his head and sighed,

“I suppose so”

“That’s a good girl” she said and rubbing salt into the wound added “after all it really is for your own good. Isn’t that right?”

He nodded but she persisted and repeated the question, saying

“Now let me hear you say it”

“Yes Miss Rose. It’s for my own good” he said fighting back the tears, realising his feminised humiliation would not end today.

“Good girl, now back to work, you still need to finish your dusting”

“Yes Miss Rose” he said as he submissively returned to his housemaid’s duties.

 

to be continued

 

Balcony

 I wasn’t completely finished with my cleaning, but the late autumn sun seemed so inviting that I decided I’d take a short break before it disappears altogether. After all, it could well be the last time before spring that I get the chance to do so. Quickly, I made myself a nice cup of coffee to enjoy along with a small, slim cigar. Normally, I’d change my clothes before going out on my balcony, but this time I threw caution to the wind and simply pulled on a thick sweatshirt over everything. Getting to the balcony and back inside would be risky, true, but once I was sitting down, the opaque fence of the balcony, my coffee table and the potted plants would do a good enough job of shielding me both from the cold as well as the peering eyes of strangers.

With my cup of coffee in one hand and my cigar case in the other, I carefully peeked out through the French window of my living room. My apartment was on the top floor of the building so that from the street view, no one could see me unless I leaned over the fence, but my next door neighbor’s balcony ended less than three feet away from mine. Once made sure she wasn’t around, I scurried over to my comfy bench as fast as I could without spilling the coffee. My heart was beating quite wildly and my fingers were shaking as I clipped the head of my cigar, but after a few sips from the cup and a couple of drags from the cigar, I began to relax and to enjoy the nutty and creamy flavors of my coffee, the mild taste of the tobacco smoke, but most of all, the warm, caressing rays of the late afternoon sun. Lured into a sense of security I even unzipped my sweatshirt and pried it open. Exposing myself to the sun rays even more directly, I all but let it slide off my shoulders completely.

Suddenly, I heard the sound of doors being opened from my left side. Waking abruptly from my dreamlike state, all I could do was to wrap my sweatshirt around me before my neighbor, Mrs. Jones walked on her own balcony.

“Charlie,” she said, practically leaning over her fence, “Nice to see you.”

“Likewise, Mrs. Jones,” I said.

The comfort, the coziness and the lazy Saturday afternoon feeling were all gone, replaced by pure, unadulterated, nerve-wracking fear. In all honesty, I had fantasized many times about meeting my neighbor like this, but now that it was actually happening, all I wanted was to be inside of the apartment, safely hidden from her view. There was nothing neither quirky nor naughty about risking that Mrs. Jones doesn’t lean over her fence enough to get a view below the waistline of my hoodie.

“Nice weather we’re having, isn’t it?” she said.

“Sure is,” I replied as calmly as I could, without letting her pick up on my nervousness.

“I just came back from the town,” she went on, “I thought I’d get started on writing some papers but decided to catch the last of the sun for today. Same goes for you, right? Having a little break on the balcony?”

“I was just cleaning my apartment,” I answered, surprising myself. It was as if I was hearing someone else talk, someone who spoke in the exact same voice as me but I had no idea what they would say next, “I was going to finish dusting the shelves, but I wanted to catch the sun before it went down, too.”

“That’s nice,” she said and then produced a long, thin cigarette from her case.

“Could I possibly trouble you for a light?” she said.

My blood froze. My first instinct was to say “It was my last match, sorry,” but I didn’t have to look on the table to know that my lighter in full view, among my scattered cigar utilities scattered over my coffee table. Resigned to the fact that I couldn’t talk myself out of getting up to light her cigarette, I helplessly fumbled with the zipper of my sweatshirt for a moment, but then gave up on that, too.

Wordlessly, I picked up my lighter and stood up, well aware of how the petticoat I was wearing under my uniform was making its pink satin skirt flare out around my knees, offering Mrs. Jones an unobstructed view of pretty much everything.

“Thank you, dear,” she said as I lit her cigarette, then, still leaning over the fence towards me, gently pushed my sweatshirt off my satin-clad shoulders, first one, then the other, until it slid down on the floor. I felt a sudden chill on my thin, hairless arms, now covered only by the short elasticized sleeves of my maid’s uniform.

“Is this what you wear for cleaning up?” she asked.

“Sometimes,” I admitted.

Of all the things that I could have said, of all the things I could have done, stood proudly and told her to stuff it, the look in her eyes was radiating the singular undeniable conclusion that I was now completely at her mercy.

“Look nice on you,” she said.

“Thank you,” I said weakly.

“Makes a dull chore like vacuuming and dusting a bit more fun, does it?” she said, making it sound like a purely innocent form of entertainment.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I replied.

“Tell you what,” she said, now with a firmer, almost commanding tone, “Why don’t you come over to my place? Plenty of fun for you to have.”

I paused for a second, dwelling on the very clear implications she wanted me to clean up her place. But did she want me to do it just now? I glanced over my coffee table where thin columns of smoke were still emanating both from my cup as well as my cigar. When I turned around again, though, Mrs. Jones was gone.

Bending at the knees because my stiff corset prevented me from bending at the waist, I picked up my sweatshirt off the floor and hung it neatly over the back of my sofa. The clicking of my high heels, as I walked to the kitchen for a fresh apron, seemed to reverberate deafeningly in my ears. The bridge had been crossed and there was no going back. Freed from the necessity of hiding, I felt myself slip back into the dream-like state. With a new lace trimmed apron covering the bodice of my dress and the front of my skirts, I quickly walked out to the hallways.

Mrs. Jones was already standing by her opened front door.

“Come in,” she said.

Wedding shorties

Hi everyone. Thank you so much for the warm welcome and the comments on my writing. It means a lot to me.

Now, on to the short bits...

The first wedding I remember going to is when I was sixteen years old. I’ve got to say I didn’t like it one bit. The bride was some relative of some friend of my mother’s, I didn’t know anybody and I hated it how my mother had me primped up. Despite all my protests, I ended up wearing a pencil skirt, a matching tailored jacket and a pair of high heeled shoes bought just for the occasion, along with my mother’s white silk T. I kept hiding in corners all of the time, enviously looking at the bridesmaids laughing and dancing in their full skirted gowns and I hated my clothes. My jacket was so tight around my shoulders I felt like I was strapped in and my feet were sore from the high heels, but the worst was the skirt that was so tight around my knees I could hardly walk in it. My mother was telling me all the time that it was alright and that no one could tell I was a boy but every time I got off my chair the skirt made me walk around in tiny mincing steps and I kept looking at the bridesmaids and thinking that next time I would be wearing something strapless and full skirted like them.

 # # #

We each sign our names under the dotted line and then the registrar says “you may now kiss the bride.” The veil is lifted and the crackle of the taffeta bridal gown strikingly overwhelms the formal silence of the chamber. I have to bend down considerably to reach Donald’s lips and I know that his mother hates it and even he is still embarrassed by it but it is my wedding and I’ll wear high heels if I want to. In my mind, I’m trying to see the picture of our embrace, the black of the suit sinking into the white of the gown until I occurs to me that we’ve probably kissing long enough and I pull my roaming tongue back into my mouth. We break our embrace and face the wedding crowd, if ten women can be called a crowd at all. The applause is a mixture of cheering and unease, which makes me think that some lipstick got smudged in our kissing. Never mind, that will be taken care of, later, I brush aside my regards for what sort of image we are presenting, but at the same time it is enough to make me resist the urge to lift him up in my arms there and then. I’ll wait until we’re out in the open. In the mean time the wedding guests are getting off their chairs to congratulate us. I detect a look of shocked disbelief in the eyes of Donald’s relatives, which makes me, subconsciously, pull my shoulders and smile triumphantly, didn’t think I’d pull it off, did you?, except for his aunt who simply kisses us on the cheeks, then uses her handkerchief to wipe the smudged lipstick, first from Donald’s face, then mine.

“You should touch up your makeup,” she says to no-one in particular as I thank her, then joins the rest of her family outside. Time to face the crowd, I think, and take Donald’s hand. I can’t keep my eyes of him, as we’re walking towards the exit. In his white gown, it seems like he’s not walking but floating on a cloud of chiffon and lace and taffeta and I can’t help myself and when we’re out of the door, Donald is already up in my arms and this time even his mother has to break out in a smile when she sees him happily squealing and kicking his legs.

 

# # #

There are some strange looks from the registrar when we sign our names under the dotted lines, but there have been strange looks all day and when se finally says “you may now kiss the bride” they are all forgotten. All that matters now is that I am marrying Amber, but I can’t help but to feel I’m rubbing it in the faces of those who laughed at me at first, who said she’d never marry me. Look at me now, marrying Amber. Though I have to think – am I really marrying her? Or is she marrying me? Either way, it is a wedding, and a white gown one at that. While we can’t tell who is marrying whom, there is very little doubt left that it is her who is kissing me. I’m tilting my head way back and she’s bending down to reach my lips because already taller than me, she practically towers above me on her high heels. When she wraps her strong arms around me and locks me in her dominant embrace, the message couldn’t be clearer. I can almost hear my mother complaining, at the back of my head, and I hear myself answering I know you don’t like this mummy, but what are we going to do? I’m not a very big man and Amber is so tall and so strong and I snake my arms around her neck and I’m getting lost in the moment. The feel of her tongue, roaming my mouth and the crackling sound of the wedding gown’s silk taffeta shifting between our bodies transport me to another place. I’m melting in her embrace, feeling weightless until I suddenly realize it’s no illusion but that the whole weight of my body is supported by her and not by my feet which I find they are actually dangling freely, suspended above the ground. I can’t help it but to bend them at the knees, wondering at the same time if, under the gown’s voluminous skirts, can anyone see that at all, and how high off the ground has she lifted me?

# # #

First there is the slamming of the front door. Usually I’d get angry, but this time I let it slide. Then there is the tattering of high heels on the concrete driveway, and the rustle of taffeta. After the sound of the back doors of my cars opening, the rustling gets the loudest. Then there is the sound of the doors being shut and, for a little while, all I hear is the sound of my own shoes striking the concrete floor as I walk around the car to the driver’s seat. The soft sound of the door latch opening seems to expose me, again, to the rustling and the girlish giggling. These are the sounds of my son and his girlfriend going to his sister’s wedding reception.

There are only three of us in the car, but the car is all filled up. The back-seat compartment is overrun by a mass of purple satin, chiffon and taffeta. The air in the car is filled up by a heavy scent of floral perfume. Yet it is the most subtle thing that fills up the car the most, it is the sound. I give them a brief moment to compose themselves, to overcome their nerves, so I wait before starting the car up. We don’t speak, we don’t even move, yet the silence is completely drawn out by the distinctive rustle of the taffeta. The sound itself isn’t very loud, but it is pervasive. Even with the car engine revved up, I still clearly hear the layers of the gown shifting around the back seats. By now the young couple has relaxed a bit. They chatter. They shift restlessly in their seats. They can’t keep their hands off themselves.

It is understandable. They are young. They seldom see each other dressed up as they are. I pretend not to notice what is going on but occasionally, I will glance at the rear-view mirror. After all, it was me that had helped them with their appearances today. I helped them pick their clothes. I helped them put on their clothes. I helped with the hair and makeup. Isn’t it natural I want to keep an eye out for the sight of lipstick being smudged? Golden locks being pulled out of place? I do see all that, occasionally, in the rear-view mirror. The dress is still pretty, though. Occasionally, I catch a glimpse of a pastel beige pantsuit, contemplating that it makes a nice contrast against the lustrous purple of the gown.

Eventually, I pull in the parking lot. The kids have settled down and are now inspecting the damage themselves. There is the sound of a purse opening. A compact is snapped open. Tissues are pressed against the soft skin. A tube of lipstick slides out of the housing, then I hear the sound of lips softly pressed together and opened again. The sound of a mascara brush being pulled out, slid back in after a minute. The sound of the compact being shut.

There’s no silence when the front door shuts behind me this time as I hear the sound of the wedding reception in the distance. People are laughing. People are speaking loudly. Then the back doors of my car open and again it seems I can’t hear anything over the gown’s loud rustle.

I watch my son and his girlfriend make their way to the reception. They’re holding hands, walking close together and again, the pastel beige fabric is completely engulfed in the purple satin, chiffon and taffeta. They remain together as long as they can, but eventually the moment comes when they have to take separate places. Their nerves act up again, though this time taking a visibly greater toll on my son’s composure. To calm him, his girlfriend walks with him right up to the front of the room, and they wait for his sister together. Then, whispering encouraging words in his ear, she quickly makes her way back to the chairs and sits down next to me. My eyes are locked on the center of the room, of course, but at the same time I can’t help but bask in the satisfaction at the composition of colors I helped to create. Not highlighting the purple gown anymore, the beige of her pantsuit is now the contrast to my green silk dress. And my son’s gown, even as bouffant as it is, seems to accentuate his sister’s wedding dress.

The last thing I hear before the start is girlfriends’ sighs of envy – she would like to be up there too. But there’s only one maid of honor in this wedding.

Feedback/suggestions

Many thanks Dave for your kind comments but I think you're selling yourself very short,we've all seen your art and it's brilliant but I do understand where you're coming from.

For anyone who found it interesting or liked it  as I  mentioned in my note  before the  last part there is scope for a continuation of this part of the story hopefully without impinging on Bea's or Belinda's storyline. .There are many aspects to the Forced Fem, Fem/Dom genre and somethings may turn on people more than others. The reason I mention this is that if people think this piece of the story is worth  continuing with  but they feel a certain something is missing ie. more empahasis on clothes, humiliation, punishment etc.let me know by leaving a comment with your suggestions. I have the basis for the next part of the storyline and if the suggestions fit in with what I have in mind  I'll do my best to include it if at all possible. No promises but I will try.
Any feedback positive or negatibve would be appreciated.

 The next part will continue with just Jackie and Rose following on from where it left off but it will take a few days as I have a lot on just now.
 I just re-read the story and there were a few typos/grammatical errors - apologies.

Carrie

Rose and Jackie pt 2

This piece is a continuation of my last contribution and could fit into the storyline  before Bea's last piece.  If enough readers are interested there is scope for this part of the storyline to continue independently of how Bea or Bleinda wish to proceed.




 

A few days had passed since his encounter with Rose and he was fearful that she may have spoken to Miss Savage or some of the pupils about him helping her carry out her duties while dressed in an apron and cap but there wasn’t a mention by anyone, much to his relief. It wasn’t something he wished to dwell on but he did enjoy being in Rose’s company as she was one of the few females in this place he felt some way comfortable with despite her having  insisted on him wearing the apron and cap while helping her. There was no doubt he was embarrassed at first but apart making adjustments here and there to the garments Rose made no remark apart for expressing her gratitude for his help and her easy going manner soon  made him almost forget his new attire.

This was the first Saturday that he didn’t have to accompany his mother on one of her interminable shopping expeditions. As luck would have it his mother and his current tormentor in chief Miss Savage had left early for some course or other and thankfully would not be back until late. He had the whole day to himself and just had to make sure to avoid his other persecutors Pamela and her gang.

Lying in bed he began thinking about Rose and remembered that for some reason she had left some of her things in the guest bedroom. Driven by this he went to the guest bedroom and found the cap she was wore on her previous visit and holding it to his nose he inhaled her scent and getting aroused he lay on the bed closing his eyes and holding the cap to his face started to pleasure himself with his other hand.

“Enjoying yourself?”

He shot bolt upright to find Rose in the doorway gazing down at him with a mixture of shock and contempt.

“You horrible little boy, I thought you were different” she spat

“I’m sorry Rose I didn’t know you were coming today” he said feebly, hurriedly covering himself with a sheet and discarding the cap.

“Obviously I’m not the only one coming today” she sneered “I’m sure your mother would like to hear about this.”

“Please Rose, not that. Please don’t tell her” he pleaded. “I’ll do anything, just don’t tell her.”

“Well as the school hasn’t employed another maid I could do with some help.” she said.

“Sure, no problem, I’ll just go to my room and get dressed” he replied.

“That won’t be necessary, I have all you need right here” she announced as she patted the sizeable bag on her shoulder, “As you will be doing the work of a maid it’s only right that you be dressed accordingly.”

He had worn the apron and cap on the previous occasion so he felt it was a small price to pay for her silence.

“That’s fine Rose I’ll wear the apron” he said.

“Of course you will, and also that cap that you seem so fond of, but a maid can’t just wear an apron and cap, now can she?”

“What do you mean?” he answered unsure of where this was going.

“Just as well I collected these from the drycleaners, I was going to drop them off in the maid’s quarters later but I guess we will need them here” she said as she walked slowly to the bed and put down the bag. Opening it she took out a similar uniform to the one she was wearing. He felt a queasiness in his stomach.

 “I think this should fit you, it’s the one the previous maid wore it might be a bit tight but we can fix that. ”

“You can’t expect me to wear that” he gasped.

“Not only do I expect you to wear it you will also wear suitable underwear. Stay here and don’t move” she ordered.

She left the room and he stood rooted to the spot, the sheet covering his naked body, still in shock from Rose discovering him in such a comprising position, wondering did he hear her correctly, she wanted him to wear a maid’s uniform and something about underwear. He was still pondering this when she returned with some items in her hands.

“Right let’s get started” she said brusquely, laying out what he now saw to be items of female underwear. She couldn’t be serious he thought there was no way he would wear female underwear nor a maid’s uniform. He began to come to his senses.

“No way, Rose I’m not wearing those” he said trying to sound confident.

“Now listen here you horrible little excuse for a boy. If you don’t get into these and your uniform pronto I will go straight to Miss Strang the principle and tell her you masturbated onto an item of my uniform. I really don’t think she will allow a pervert to remain in such a prestigious school. It’s quite probable that your mother will lose her job. They are very strict here, ask the maid that just lost her job for a minor infraction of the rules”

He was dumbfounded by her outburst and knew that while that’s not exactly what happened Miss Strang would probably take Rose’s word over a newcomer like him. He couldn’t risk his mother’s job, she’d be devastated. Rose looked at him impassively arms folded.

“Well, what’s it to be” she said

“All right Rose” he said “I’ll do what you want.”

“I thought so” she crowed and there will be a few rules. First one is you will address me as Miss Rose as I will be your tutor and you will curtsy when you address me. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Miss Rose” he meekly replied, resigned to his fate.

“Very well now let’s get you into your new underwear.  I wasn’t expecting this so I borrowed some of your mother’s things there’s not much of a size difference. This girdle will keep that thing between your legs out of harm’s way. She has good taste just look at these satin panels front and back.”

He was horrified. Not only had he to endure the shame of being forced into dressing as a girl he was being humiliated even further by having to wear his mother’s underwear. He had no time to dwell on this as Rose  took the sheet from him and handed him the girdle. He tried to hide his now very flaccid penis but to no avail, he quickly stepped into the girdle as he began to draw it up his legs Rose went behind him and told him to widen his legs. As he did so she drew his cock back between his legs and told him to resume pulling up the girdle. When he was finished she stood back and pulled the high waisted girdle further up his torso until she was satisfied. She then rubbed her hand between his legs and smiled.

“Perfect not only will your girdle keep your little clitty firmly in check it will also give you a more feminine look  down there, not that anyone will see it I suppose”

She handed him a pair of black pantyhose and instructed him how to carefully put them on. Then she held out a pink satin bra and told him to put his arms through it and then she moved behind him to fasten it. She turned him around and adjusted the straps and place rolled up panties into the cups.

“Can’t have a girl without boobs” she chuckled as he grew redder. “Now hold up your arms” Doing as he was told she placed a matching pink satin slip over his head and also adjusted the bra part around his now small jutting boobs. She quickly brushed his hair into a ponytail like she had done on the previous occasion and taking the grey uniform dress from the bed slipped it over his head and told him to placed his arms in the sleeves. As he did so she zipped up the back of the dress. As she held out the apron he knew what was required of him and meekly held out his arms as she wrapped it around him tying it in place. Pointing to a pair of black two inch heels she motioned for him to put them on. Much to his surprise they fitted him.

“Not bad, just a little something else I think” she said standing back to admire her handiwork. He was horror struck as she rubbed liquid foundation to his face and then began applying a pale pink lipstick to his lips.

“Much better, but there’s something missing I wonder what is it? Oh yes your cap” she said as she held out the article that had got him into this mess in the first place.

“Now put it on….. GIRL” she sneered.

Silently he took the cap from her and placed it on his head and fixed it into place with the hair pins attached to it like she had shown him previously.

“Excellent. Now come have a look at yourself” she said as she motioned him to the full length mirror.

Any small trace of masculinity that he may have previously shown was all but obliterated for all intents and purposes he now looked like a young servant girl.

“I think your mother would approve, I believe the vast majority of single mothers prefer to have a daughter rather than a son. I’m sure she would be happy to know you are wearing her lingerie. Now time to put you to work my girl. Oh by the way I don’t think Jackie is an appropriate  name for a maid, I can’t think of a suitable one at the moment so I will just call you  Girl. Ok with you Girl?” she asked rhetorically

Knowing he had no choice regarding this further humiliation he nodded.

“Yes Rose”

“What did you say” she snapped.

“Sorry Miss Rose I forgot” he apologised making a crude attempt at a curtsy.

“Well, I’ll let it pass this time. And we’ll have to work on your curtsy.”

“Yes Miss Rose” he said almost gratefully.

“Now the last time I was here I showed you the duties of a maid and you were quite a good pupil so let me see what you have remembered. Start with your own room, I will give you fifteen minutes and then check on your progress. I expect everything to be spick and span when I make my inspection. Or else there will be consequences” she ordered as she pointed to his room.

He turned and left and for the first time felt the sensations of the feminine clothes he was now forced to wear. He wobbled slightly at first in the heels but after a few steps got the hang of it. He now felt the girdle constrain his stomach and the odd feeling of his cock tucked between his legs  unable to move because of the girdle holding it firmly in place. The bra straps gently biting into his shoulders and across his back, the satin slip rubbing against the material of the uniform dress making a faint rustling sound. He heard the whisper of the pantyhose as his thighs rubbed together as he walked in the unfamiliar shoes.

He entered his room and again saw his reflection in the mirror. He had to look very hard to see any semblance of the boy who left this room an hour ago. A somewhat downcast young  uniformed maid stared back from the mirror. His thoughts were interrupted by a now familiar voice at the door addressing him by his new name.

“GIRL… stop admiring yourself and get on with your work.

“Yes Miss Rose” he said respectfully and gave a much improved curtsy.

Rose left her new charge to get on with her work and thought to herself this could be the start of a wonderful arrangement.

Carrie

 

 

 

 

Kammi's Serial

WHAT IF? PART 25

Previous:

“I am not ready to make a final decision on whether it was rape or not. I might need to have the crime re-enacted before I decide” Mildred countered and gave Lin Lu a big smile.

Lin Lu returned the smile as both women stood up and embraced. With no panties in the way, she wasted no time getting her finger inside Mildred’s pussy and Mildred wasted no time reaching a climax.

“Wow! Guess the verdict is not guilty, my love” Mildred exclaimed after getting her breath back.

“See you next week, hon” Lin Lu said as she unlocked and opened the door to her office to let a beaming Mildred out.

It was a very busy year in Roseville. After Lin Lu approved the final draft of the design for the school, construction began immediately. Lin Lu wanted it to be open for the fall semester next year, and it was. The townspeople stopped by every day to check on the progress. After all, this was their school where their children would be educated. Most were surprised to see female supervisors in their pink hard hats giving orders to the primarily male labor force. However, once the buildings were closed in, the interior work had a majority of female workers. Whereas the existing three story high school was over a hundred years old with a dingy old brick façade, the new school would be two floors with multi colored siding of marble and stone. There would be three buildings in all, connected by  glass enclosed  walkways. The main building, and the most beautiful, was the Scholastic Wing, connected to a more modest Vocational Wing. Both were connected to the fantastic Fitness Wing sporting a gymnasium and an indoor swimming pool, the only one in the county and something new for Roseville. Outside, there was a sports field, track and tennis courts. It was quickly pointed out that the field only had field hockey goals but no football posts. A unique item was an herb and flower garden.

Also quickly noted was the fact that all bathrooms were unisex, which was somewhat of a misnomer. There were no urinals and the tiled finishes were all pastel colors, in keeping with the rest of the building. Even the toilet paper was pink with just a hint of perfume. Soaps were the same, though their perfume was stronger. White wicker baskets on the vanity held tampons in one and sanitary napkins in the other. Class rooms in the Scholastic Wing were smaller than usual, were carpeted and had a large round table in the center to accommodate 14 pupils at a time plus the teacher. Lighting was soft and there was not a florescent bulb to be found. The classrooms in the Vocational Wing were larger in a tiered, lecture style fashion. They all did have the standard fluorescent light fixtures. The classrooms were all on the second floor level. The ground floor level housed the so called “Labs”. One was an oversized beauty salon used by the Cosmetology Department containing twenty styling stations, a row of ten shampoo sinks, and a two tiered platform with thirty hair dryers. Another room had a restaurant style kitchen for the Culinary Arts Department. The Fashion Department had large Formica covered tables and rows of small tables with sewing machines and dress dummies. The Secretarial Department had a room filled with desks with typewriters on top. Lastly, the Domestic Arts Department had three commercial size washing machines and dryers, five heavy duty steam pressers and ten ironing boards that folded out from wall cabinets, deep laundry tubs, and shiny chrome clothing racks on wheels.

Everybody in town was enthralled by the luxury of their new school after the dedication and open house two weeks before school started.  

There had been some grumbling about wearing uniforms with comments like “It’s not a damn Catholic school” and “We have a Constitutional right to dress as we like”. The excellent PR team that the board had hired did a wonderful job of soothing the complainers, pointing out that in almost every other school in the world, uniforms were required, especially the “better” schools. The uniforms were unveiled at a mini fashion show at the open house. Several pupils modeled the basic uniforms and the sports and gym outfits. All were designed with the school colors, pink and mauve. The school flag was raised for the first time on a flag pole outside the Scholastic Wing, next to the national and state flags. Like the welcome road signs, the flag had a pink background with a mauve rose in the center. It had a white ruffled border. A future seventh year pupil displayed the uniform to be worn by the seventh through tenth year classes: black flat shoes, white, knee high textured stockings, a traditional plaid, pleated skirt, - pink and mauve, of course, - and a starched white cotton blouse with a wide, flowered tie. She looked so cute with her banana-curled pig tails on each side of her head. Once she had made her back and forth stride down the runway, she stopped and popped a pink beret on her head, slanted, and secured it to her hair with a silver clip on each side. Next came the uniform for the senior classes, 11^th and 12^th years. There was a bunch of “oohs” and “aahs” when the model maturely strutted down the runway. Though she was only sixteen, she could have passed for a fashionable career woman, which was the aim of the board. She wore black, 2” pumps, sheer nylons, a gray, tight, pleated wool skirt and a cream satin georgette tie neck blouse. Her stylish hair do was both feminine and professional. Perfectly polished red nails were seen when she playfully removed her white dress gloves. A close up would have revealed her light make-up.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, there are two more garments that comprise the uniform but modesty prevents us from showing them to you” the master of ceremonies said into the microphone. “Since this is the Dryfuss Academy, of course all of the pupils will wear products made right here in Roseville by Dryfuss Enterprises – pink girdles and slips. The juniors will wear half slips and the seniors full slips. The girdles have been custom designed just for pupils of the academy. They have a mauve rose embroidered on the front. The juniors will wear panty girdles while the seniors have the option of panty  or open bottom styles. Any questions?”

A man raised his hand and was recognized.

“How about the boys?”

“Well, since Dryfuss Academy does not discriminate between genders, all pupils will wear the same uniforms.”

There was  a hum of muttering from the audience.

“Is there a problem with that? After all, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander, right?”

She laughed to herself thinking that this was not entirely true. In fact, the boys would wear a somewhat modified girdle. It would be much thicker and tighter than the ones the girls wore and have a pouch to hold back their bits.

Her comment was followed by a chorus of applause and laughter. Yes, equality had come to Roseville, to the shock of some of the teen age boys in the audience.

Because of the radical changes in the new school it was felt best to start off with just the first two years classes, and add two more each year until the full transition was completed with a total anticipated enrollment of 600. (The campus was built to accommodate 1,000 pupils for probable population increases and possible tuitioned pupils from surrounding towns.)  The various experts in education thought it would be too overwhelming for a current sophomore or junior in the traditional high school to adjust to the philosophy of Dryfuss Academy. The younger pupils could be adapted easier. Since the academy was the public school for Roseville, the originally desired “entrance exam” had to be replaced by a “placement exam” since every pupil in the town had to be admitted. The carefully crafted exam was quite extensive, measuring not only academic abilities but also future career choices and the pupils’ talents and social preferences. Once they had completed the written exam, each pupil was individually interviewed by the chair of the board of trustees, the newly hired headmistress Mrs. Elizabeth Taylor-Newcomb, and the school psychiatrist, Dr. Wendy Lovely.  Amazingly, of the 200 new pupils to be admitted, only 20 boys were determined to qualify for the Scholastic school while the other 80 or so boys would be assigned to the Vocational school. (Lin Lu would have liked to see only girls attending the Scholastic school but the academy attorney advised that this might be challenged legally and even the token 10% that was admitted might be questioned. Lin Lu was not concerned about this with the hard evidence of the placement exam to show how well the girls scored over the boys. And she said this with a straight face! In fact, the exams were rigged to favor girls.) The boys selected to attend the Vocational school were in turn assigned to one of the various departments based on their indicated career choices and determination by the entrance panel where they were best suited, though in fact only two had indicated a preference to attend any of the Vocational school departments, deeming them to be “girly” courses. The bottom fifteen were placed in the Domestic Arts department which would essentially train them to be future janitors, maids, and laundry workers. On the other hand, a number of girls indicated a desire to go to departments like cosmetology, fashion, and secretarial. None was assigned there but could take such courses as extra-curricular electives. The powers to be determined that all of their girls would become professional level workers and every effort necessary to achieve this goal would be made. While a girl might be interested in becoming a hairdresser, this would be discouraged but she would be steered to become an owner of a beauty salon. All of the boys in the Scholastic program would be required to take courses in each of the five Vocational school departments, but girls would not be. This seemingly discriminating policy was supported by the comment made by the headmistress “Girls naturally learn to type, sew, do laundry, learn hair and make-up techniques, but boys have to be trained in these skills”. The truth of the matter was that, by the time the academy opened, more boys were routinely cooking, cleaning, and washing and ironing their family’s clothes than any of the girls. And more than half of the new boy pupils were quite comfortable wearing a dress or skirt. This was life in the “new” Roseville.

On opening day, 206 pupils gathered in the auditorium for a welcoming speech by Lin Lu and the headmistress. Each one was screened at the entrance doors to make sure they complied with the proper uniform and hairstyles. (A notice sent out at the beginning of summer stated that pupils would be required to have uniform, shoulder length hair that had been set according to the style determined by the cosmetology department teacher. While a handful of the  boys had not been able to grow their hair to the proper length in that time, it was still long enough to hold a roller set. The style stipulated curled bangs and a tight flip. By then end of the month, all of them would have received a mandatory permanent wave. Only two pupils were not properly attired,  both boys, and they were given detention in the laundry department for the week where they would spend two hours after school washing, drying, and folding clothes brought in by faculty members. And they had their hair set tightly in small rollers by students in the cosmetology department which they had to keep in overnight and in school for each day of detention. Three boys did not have the pleats in their skirts as sharp as they should be and they were given detention where they had to press the skirts of any pupil that wanted to drop off their skirts after school and pick them up in the morning. At the end of the week, the three boys had ironed over 150 skirts, many of which they did each day of their punishment. Remarkably, no girl was given detention.

While pupils in the scholastic program attended class in their uniforms, everyone in the vocational program was given a pretty smock to wear over their uniform. The smocks were of different pastel colors according to their allocated department but all of them had a lovely white lace hem, nine inches long. The cafeteria was staffed by three professional chefs and boys from the culinary school acted as assistants, mostly doing dishes and clean up duty at the beginning. They were also required to act as waitresses to pupils in the scholastic school. Pupils in the vocational school lined up and had their food dished out to them on their trays. Likewise, when lunch was over, the scholastics just left their dishes on their table to be picked up by the culinary pupils. The vocational pupils carried their trays and dishes to the stainless pass through after they had scraped any leftovers into the trash barrels. After the first month, scholastics could make appointments in the cosmetology to get their hair and nails done after school. Most of them took the opportunity to do homework while they had their hair rolled and sat under the dryer. It was amazing to see how quickly the scholastics, at such a young age, assumed their rightful role as superior to the vocational pupils. They sat quietly under their dryer reading while they had their hand and toenails polished with no exchange of words with their fellow pupils. And while many of the vocational pupils began to wear their curlers home, no scholastic pupil did this. Of course, the fact that the vocational pupils were not allowed to use the dryers contributed to this difference.

The scholastics worked hard at their courses with class sizes not exceeding 14 pupils. They had required, supervised homework every evening except Fridays. Here they had one on one tutoring with their teachers. Dinner was also prepared and served by the culinary students. Secretarial pupils would be available to type reports and daily notes and file them in the individual’s binders. Yes, the scholastics were spoiled in many ways but they also worked the hardest.

The vocational pupils opened the day with two hours of “practical experience”, meaning they  worked  doing jobs in whatever department they were assigned to. Domestic Arts pupils vacuumed, washed floors, cleaned bathrooms and emptied waste baskets and did the faculty’s laundry. Some initially complained about how messy the girls were leaving towels thrown on the floor in the shower rooms and, even worse, discarding soiled sanitary items anyplace they felt like. They were the first to get a taste of the Headmistress’ cane.  Secretarial students did correspondence work and filing  for teachers and the main office. Fashion pupils made clothes for themselves and staff, mended tears, hemmed skirts and dresses, and such. Culinary pupils did the obvious. Cosmetology pupils washed and set each other’s hair every day, resulting in these pupils wearing curlers for the rest of the day until their hair was dry. The next two hours found all of them in  large, up to 40 pupils, classrooms, in traditional studies “reading, writing, and “rithmetic”. By the end of their six years at the institute that  would have received enough credits to get a high school diploma - barely. Their homework would be just that, practicing all the “practical” skills they had learned that day. Needless to say, their mothers and sisters were more than happy to assist them in this work, pointing out places that needed cleaning, supplying clothing to be washed and ironed, allowing their brothers to give them manicures and pedicures and doing their hair, and washing all the dirty dishes that had accumulated by the evening. In all of these practices, the extent and level of performance would increase each year. Concurrently, the boys would become more and more accepting of their submissive roles in society while girls would claim their roles as the dominating gender.

It was planned that the last two years for the scholastics would also be a finishing school for them, preparing them for leading positions first of all in college and graduate school and eventually in their chosen careers. They would all be poised, mature, outgoing ladies, ready to take on the world. They would have learned to give orders to their male counterparts in the vocational school. It was also recognized that Roseville would not be able to provide all of them the high level positions they were trained for so these ladies would become “missionaries” to spread the gospel of female supremacy all over the country and eventually the world. The “good old boy” network would be replaced by a far more cohesive and effective ladies network. Lin Lu hoped that she would see at least the early start of this new world order in her lifetime.